2014
by K100
Summary: New Year's Eve at the brownstone


**2014**

Holmes pulled his hand out of his pocket and looked at his watch. "About ten more minutes." His breath was visible in the air.

"Good. I'm freezing," Watson said. She pulled her red sweater to her chin.

"Here." Sherlock opened the cardboard box that sat in front of them. "There's more stuff in here. How about a scarf?"

"Sure." She wrapped the scarf around her neck. "When is Mycroft going to send the rest of your things?"

He curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his nose. "I don't know. I can't imagine there is much left that wasn't blown to pieces."

They were on the roof of the brownstone sitting in lime-green, folding lawn chairs covered in blankets and waiting for 2013 to be over. She was sifting through the box for a blanket to keep her warm.

She pulled a gray hat out of the box. "What is this?"

He looked at it and grinned. "A phase."

"Is this a deerstalker?"

"Just a phase—years and years ago."

She pulled a second one out of the box and tossed it to him. "It must have been more than a phase—you have two."

He held it up and laughed. "A phase, I assure you." He leaned over and put the hat on her head. "To keep your head warm."

"Thank you."

"You look ridiculous."

"Thank you." She continued to sift through the box and she found a long black coat. "Thank god," she said as she stood and put on the coat and buttoned it up to her chin. It was big and heavy on her shoulders.

"Now you look even more ridiculous."

"You do realize that I'm wearing all of you clothes."

He waved his hand dismissively.

Watson sat back in her chair. "Where did these chairs come from?"

"From the neighbor's trash—the people a few houses down."

"Really? You dumpster dive?"

"They were sitting on the curb—not _in _the trash—I washed them off."

She nodded.

They were silent several minutes. The sky was clear and crisp. From their rooftop perch, the entire city was before them. Lights from buildings twinkled like stars but were as colorful as the northern lights. Suddenly, the city erupted. Fireworks down the river and fireworks toward Time Square ignited the sky—it was all for them. Music and laughter filled the air. Still, they sat motionless, huddled in their lawn chairs.

He turned to her and said, "Did you make a wish?"

She tipped her head. "Did I tell you about that?"

"Yeah, last year said you made New Year's wishes, not resolutions."

"Yes, I made a wish."

"Do they normally come true?"

She was finally warming up. She buried her face the scarf. "Sometimes."

After a moment he stood and walked to the edge of the roof and looked out over his city. All Watson could really see was his silhouette against the glowing city. His hands were buried deep in his pockets and his shoulders were hunched against the cold. He shifted his weight several times.

She got out of the chair and stood next to him.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and sighed, "My dear Watson, that hat—."

She pulled the other deerstalker out of her pocket and placed it on his head. "To warm your head."

He looped his arm through hers. "Thank you."

"You look ridiculous."

"We both do."

"Did you make a wish, Sherlock?"

He hesitated. "Yes, I did."

"Really?"

"I made one last year, too. Remember?"

She smiled. "I didn't know that."

"You told to make a wish."

"I tell you to do a lot of things…"

"Well, I did that."

They were still standing arm in arm looking out over the river. She was bundled to the point where only her eyes and nose were exposed.

"Last year," she said, and then she pulled the scarf down from over her mouth, "I wished for change."

He didn't say anything.

"All I wanted was for something to give. I didn't care what it was. I just needed my life to change." She tightened her arm around his. "At the time, the last thing I thought was that it would be this."

"Now you're a detective."

She smiled. "A detective."

"Last year," Holmes said, "my wish was much more specific. I was going to wish for retribution for Irene's murder…and in retrospect, I should have wished for Irene to stay buried—."

"That would've been nice."

"—but instead I wished for your friendship."

They stared at each other with eyes partly hidden by the brims of their hats.

She inhaled.

He nodded.

"I'm cold," she said after a moment.

"Me too. How about a sandwich and a cup of coffee? And then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony."

"Please don't play _Auld Lang Syne._"

"As you wish."

Arm in arm, they walked back to the door and into the warm brownstone.


End file.
